Grains of Truth
by Sarabande47
Summary: Is Voldemort back? The Minister doesn't believe it, neither does most of the Wizarding World. When one Ministry employee decides to give the rumor a second glance, Dumbledore gains a new ally and Snape gets involved. Post GOF.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, not me.

Prologue

February 16, 1982

The Ministry of Magic was unusually active at this time. Normally, most workers would have left before nine, leaving just a skeleton crew of night staff and the house elves. It was two in the morning and many workers from the Auror Department, Magical Law Enforcement, and the Wizengamot were still at work, as had been the norm for the past three and a half months.

Voldemort had been dead for the past three and a half months, vanquished by a baby. Harry Potter was now recognized as the Wizarding World's savior and most witches and wizards were going around in an euphoric state, save those who now had to tie up the loose ends of the war. In the last eleven years, very few arrests had been made. All the Aurors had to go on were vague descriptions of masked figures in black robes who were like shadows, appearing out of nowhere to wreck havoc. Now, it appeared that the loss of their master had caused the Death Eaters to panic, allowing the Ministry to make its first mass arrests in eleven years. The back up of trials was enormous and Aurors, clerks, and Wizengamot were working insane hours to get everyone processed and sent either to Azkaban or back home.h

Michael Cranford, a senior clerk at the MLE, was disgusted by the proceedings until January, when exhaustion had caught up to him and he had stopped caring that the only surefire way to get a trial was to give copious amounts of money to the right people or to have a plausible defense that not even the most corrupt could ignore.

He dipped his quill in ink and began filling out a new form, scheduling Lucius Malfoy's trial for March third. He then began creating a case file of sorts. Accused claims to have been under the Imperius Curse…forced to take the Dark Mark…has killed, tortured…

It was all routine, writing down the countless atrocities, the lines of defense, the prosecution, all neatly summed up for the Wizengamot's perusal. It was efficient. The defense gave evidence to the clerks as did the prosecution. The clerks would then write up that evidence in a tidy manner to save the Wizengamot from lengthy speeches and cross-examinations, cutting down trials to a short speech and a vote. It was efficient and no one voiced their thoughts that the system may have flaws.

Half-way through with Malfoy's file, Michael began to nod off. A five minute cat nap couldn't hurt, so he neatly put away the file and sank down onto the desk as if it were the most wonderfully soft pillow in the world.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had just come out of the courtroom - a late trial, merely a formality, to send Crouch Jr. and the Lestranges to Azkaban. His jaw clenched as he remembered seeing Frank and Alice being brought to St. Mungo's, both had been shaking uncontrollably and Alice had been screaming. Their boy, Neville, had just sat there, silently staring off into space. The Healers told Albus that the Longbottoms' minds had been severely damaged by the curse and it was unlikely that they would ever recover.

He tried to pull his mind from the trial that had just passed, but the still raw and fresh memories came pouring back into his mind. It was rare for Albus to use Occlumency to ease the emotion of certain memories, but that night, he did so.

It was time to go arrange a trial for another Death Eater. Albus took the elevator to the fourth floor, where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was, and strode past the junior clerks' cubicles, some which still were lit, in favor of going to the senior clerks' offices. He had tried arranging Severus Snape's trial with the junior clerks, but had no luck. One of them eventually told him that only a few could get a trial, Snape wasn't one of the lucky few, and that not even the Chief Warlock could influence that. Now could Albus please leave them to their work? Hopefully at two in the morning, the one senior clerk still at the Ministry would be too tired to refuse.

Albus knocked at the door. No answer. He tried again, this time calling, "Hello?"

The door was opened by a bleary eyed clerk who looked as though he had fallen asleep. "Can I help you?" he asked, his tone conveying disbelief that someone would want to talk at the time. He gestured Albus into the office, where Albus took a seat on a rather uncomfortable wooden chair. He pondered whether or not it would be impolite to conjure up a sofa and decided that at three a.m. it was warranted.

"Albus Dumbledore." He extended his hand, which the clerk accepted.

"Michael Cranford. Now, how can I help you?"

"I would like to arrange a trial."

The clerk looked sharply at him. "I would need to know for whom and the particulars of the case. I'm sure that you know, being Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, sir, that we simply have too many new arrests to give a trial to everyone. I do not care much for bribes, so whoever this person is, they'd better have a good case in their favor."

Albus Dumbledore remarked quietly, "It is a sad day when justice is abandoned for efficiency, is it not?"

Cranford replied, "Of course it is. But that doesn't really help me, and if you do not mind, I'd rather make this discussion quick so that I can go home. Who needs a trial?"

It seemed as if this clerk wasn't going to be too sympathetic. "Severus Snape."

Cranford was flipping through a well worn folder in search of something. He grabbed a sheet of paper and read off of it. "Severus Snape, 21, arrested November 13, 1981, has the Dark Mark." The last bit of information was read with an air of finality, as if it closed matters.

"Severus Snape was a Death Eater, yes, but there were extenuating circumstances."

"Such as? I do not mean to be rude sir, but even a member of the Wizengamot needs to produce some sort of evidence or reasoning."

Albus briefly closed his eyes. He wasn't going to be able to get a trial for Severus without explaining the spying to Cranford. Of course, if Voldemort really was dead, then there was no harm in telling anyone. However, Albus Dumbledore knew, perhaps just as well as the erstwhile Tom Riddle, that the limits of magic could be pushed, maybe even enough to preserve a soul. No, it was far better to be cautious.

"What I have to tell you then is information that must be kept quiet. I can inform the rest of the Wizengamot on my own, so you will not write this down. I need your magically binding word that you will not discuss what I have told you with another person or being."

Albus smiled to himself. A gleam of curiosity shone in Cranford's eyes. He repeated, "Do I have your word, Mr. Cranford?"

The words came out of Cranford's mouth almost reluctantly as he took out his wand. "I, Michael Cranford, do swear upon my magic not to inform any being about what is told to me tonight by one Albus Dumbledore."

Albus' eyes twinkled. "Lemon drop Mr. Cranford?"

He sighed when Cranford shook his head. Poor fellow didn't know what he was missing.

"Severus Snape was a Death Eater, yes. However, before the end of the war, he came to me and offered his services, which I accepted. And so, Severus became a spy, passing along a good deal of solid information to our side – at great personal risk to himself."

Albus paused; that really was all there was to the story. He didn't want to lie to Cranford and certainly not to the rest of the Wizengamot.

Cranford looked disappointed. "So he was a spy? As a senior clerk, Mr. Crouch has given me access to the records. This would definitely have been written down. Is that why he is in Azkaban, there was some bureaucratic mix up?"

Should he tell Cranford about the Order? The fellow had already taken a vow…and probably would follow up on Albus' claims.

He cleared his throat. "Mr. Cranford, I'm afraid that you do not quite understand. The Ministry of Magic is not the only organization that worked against Voldemort."

Predictably, Cranford flinched at the name.

"I head an organization called the Order of the Phoenix. Severus Snape's spying is not on the Ministry record."

"So how do I know that you are telling the truth?"

"I can – and I'm sure that Severus would be willing to – testify under Veristaserum."

"At the trial of course. I suppose then, that one can be arranged."

"Thank you for your understanding, Mr. Cranford. I need my Potions master back, and I do hope that there is room for a trial in early March. Perhaps the third?"

Cranford nodded, already making a note to himself. Just as Albus was about to get up, Cranford asked, "Sir, what else did the Order of the Phoenix do?"

Albus decided that he had given Cranford enough information. The Order was a secret organization for a _reason_.

"I think that this is enough for tonight. After all, I wouldn't want to keep you up."

"Good night Mr. Cranford, it was a pleasure." He let himself out of the office before the persistent lad could say anything else.

* * *

Malfoy, Michael decided could get his trial bumped back a bit. The Imperious defense was a good move, an Unforgivable that couldn't be disproved, even if any fool on the street knew that Malfoy was lying. Snape…there was something strange there. The Order of the Phoenix, Michael decided, warranted some quiet investigation once he had the time to do so.

The adrenaline had worn off and Michael filled out Severus Snape's forms. As he was doing so, he wondered what this Death Eater had done to win Dumbledore's support. The exhaustion was coming back in full force and Alastor Moody's voice echoed in his mind, relentlessly reminding Michael, "There are some spots which never come off. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater", as Michael collapsed on his desk for that second time that night.

_In the next two months, Michael Cranford would try and fail to find anything other than vague information on the Order. He would also be frustrated by the lack of information concerning Severus Snape. Michael Cranford would also, eventually give up on his search. The events of February 16__th__, 1982 would be forgotten until a later date._

* * *

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine.

Many thanks to HulaHula and mangoaddict for their encouragement and advice.

* * *

Chapter 1

Fourteen years after the first War, Michael Cranford was still working at the Ministry as a clerk for Magical Law Enforcement. It wasn't the greatest job, but it paid the bills and got him enough money to spoil his niece. The only changes in the Ministry had been the election of Fudge and the replacement of owls with flying memos. In Michael's opinion, Fudge was a moron and the memos, while not as unsanitary as owls, had annoying tendencies to land in one's coffee.

Michael himself hadn't changed much either, other than some grey in his sandy brown hair and a slight expansion of his waistline. He still disliked most of the Ministry's policies and distrusted them even more now. With an idiot like Fudge in charge, it seemed like a good idea to quietly question policies and read everything thoroughly before signing.

Lately, the Ministry had been in an uproar. A couple weeks ago, Dumbledore had gotten up during one of the Wizengamot's meetings and announced that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, calmly as you please. Michael frowned. He didn't know the wizard well, he had had him as a Transfiguration professor and had met with him once, but other than that, nothing. It didn't seem as though Dumbledore could have been so phenomenally stupid. From what Michael knew, he had been given a warning and then had tried to convince others again. Now, Dumbledore had lost his seat on the Wizengamot and on the International Confederation of Wizards. If one believed Fudge, then Dumbledore had thrown away a large part of his career and influence to frighten people. Michael didn't believe it. No one with any sense would have done that.

A memo flew into Michael's office. He glanced at it before incinerating it. 'It' being another reassurance from Fudge, telling all employees that Dumbledore was a liar and You-Know-Who was dead. Michael couldn't really blame the Minister for trying to prevent mass hysteria, but Michael felt that circumstances should be investigated. Hysteria was bad, but allowing You-Know-Who to freely rise again was much, much worse.

Michael frowned again as he tried to remember that conversation he had had with Dumbledore so many years ago. Dumbledore had wanted him to get a trial for whatshisname…Snape, and had said something about an organization that fought You-Know-Who...the Order of the Pheonix. Michael's thoughts kept coming back to the conclusion that there must be some truth to the rumors. _Well, you never know until you try_, he thought. It was time to hear what Dumbledore had to say, after all, he was in a position to have the information.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Quite some time ago, we had an enlightening conversation in which you told me that You-Know-Who had other enemies than the Ministry. At your earliest convenience, I would like to meet with you to discuss several things, including the supposed rumors you are spreading. I do not dismiss the thought of his return as lightly as others._

_Sincerely,_

_Michael Cranford_

The writing was too stiff, Michael mused. He wasn't in particular favor of having his name dragged through the mud along with Dumbledore's, so he had tried to keep the message as vague as possible, as result of a slight paranoia. Not to mention, that he didn't particularly want the rumors to be true. He forced himself to think of the alternative.

"I'm not going to just sit here without knowing anything," he told the owl as he attached the letter. "I refuse to sit here and do nothing again."

*****

That Michael Cranford still remembered after all these years surprised Albus Dumbledore. Oh, he had heard of a couple of the clerk's attempts to dig up information on the Order, but had thought he had given up. Apparently not, although this time, Cranford was going straight for the jugular. It amazed Dumbledore that the whole Ministry had heard or heard of Voldemort's return and only one or two people dared to give thought to that idea. Dumbledore fingered Cranford's letter and smiled.

The good news should be shared with Minerva. "Dobby?" the Headmaster called.

A slight pop signaled the enthusiastic elf's arrival. Dobby beamed at Dumbledore, "What can Dobby do for the great and generous Headmaster Dumbledore? Headmaster is a great man and Dobby knows his kindness and is most grateful for - "

"Dobby," Albus interrupted gently, "could you please ask Minerva to come to my office?"

"Dobby is doing so right aways, Headmaster!" The elf gave Albus an even toothier smile before leaving to find Minerva.

Albus didn't have to wait long until a somewhat harassed looking Minerva McGonagall walked into the office.

She glared at Albus. "This had better be important Albus. I'm in the middle of writing all the book lists and acceptance letters for the first years. The Ministry also somehow reported all of the Potions OWL scores as A's or below, and while I'm sure that Severus would be overjoyed to have only one NEWT class this year, I'm equally certain that there was a mistake as Miss Granger definitely did not get a T in Potions." At that point in her rant, she noticed that Albus was contemplating the ceiling with an air of infinite patience. "Albus, are you just going to sit there and stare at the ceiling? What did you want?"

Albus handed Cranford's letter to Minerva. "I met Mr. Cranford several years ago, when I needed to get a trial for Severus. At the time, he was rather disappointed about the lack of information I gave him and had tried several times to find more."

He twinkled at her. "Minerva, my dear, we've got another fighter for our cause."

"Albus, that is wonderful. Now, why am I here?"

"Well, as Cranford hasn't joined the Order yet, I need someone to meet with him."

"Albus, he asked to meet with you." Minerva looked sternly at him. "Whatever happened to your famous courtesy?"

He sighed. "We do need anyone we can get. It was rather foolish of me to assume that Fudge would be cooperative and now, I'm extremely busy dealing with the backlash. The Minister's new policies regarding Hogwarts are slightly worrisome. I had hoped that I could just send my apologies and ask you to meet with him." He looked at her frazzled countenance. "Perhaps I shall ask Severus to do so."

Minerva nodded. "I need to finish the paperwork." She rose and exited his office.

"Dobby!" Albus called and started to compose a reply to Michael Cranford.

*****

A tall, dark, and somewhat bat-like figure stalked through the castle and wrenched open the front doors. Severus Snape scowled as he closed them, annoyed that his potions had been interrupted so that he could introduce someone to the Order. Between the Dark Lord and the Headmaster, he'd never get a chance to finish a potion. And Dumbledore wondered why Lupin didn't get his Wolfsbane last week. The Headmaster was obviously insane, as no one with a single functioning brain cell would send _Severus Snape_ to do anything that might be remotely related to socializing and/or the equally alien concept of social graces.

The harsh noon sunlight beating down on the grounds didn't improve Severus' mood either. By the time he reached the edge of the grounds, he had started to sweat under layers of heavy black cloth. Cranford had better be worth this, Snape thought as he Apparated into the Ministry.

*****

The letter his owl had returned with told Michael that Dumbledore wouldn't be coming, but that he would send Professor Snape at noon, which would have meant that Michael's boss wouldn't let him take the afternoon off if had been anyone but Madam Bones. It was a blessing that he could shove paperwork off onto those lesser mortals, the junior clerks. Michael wasn't disappointed at all that Dumbledore wouldn't be coming, he was looking forward to meeting the spy. He had also prepared himself to receive some nasty comments – from what he had heard from his younger colleagues, the Hogwarts Potions Master was the nastiest bastard on the planet, maybe the universe. A friend of his had a niece that written home after her first day at Hogwarts. The letter expressed the girl's fears that she wasn't a witch because a certain professor had told her that her vomit would probably be more effective at curing boils than her potion.

Michael didn't approve of Snape's apparent teaching methods, but he was a grown man who could handle insults and didn't care, so long as he got answers. He wandered around Diagon Alley, more to kill time than anything else. He glanced at the window display of Flourish and Blotts, which displayed Lockhart's books, some Transfiguration texts, and The Invisible Book of Invisibility (supposedly). Sometimes, Michael wondered if it would kill the Wizarding World to have some good fiction.

In the window of the bookstore, Michael saw Lucius Malfoy slip into a small side street that led to Knockturn Alley. He was tempted to follow, but it was about time to meet with Snape, so Michael started walking towards the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub was busy. Many people were trying to escape the unusually stifling heat in the dark pub with a cold drink. In a corner, a pale man dressed in black sat by himself. From everyone else's descriptions, this was Snape. His hair was greasy and hung in limp strings. When he raised his head to scan the pub, presumably for Michael, Michael's blue eyes met with the cold, empty black ones. It was like looking into an abyss and Michael thought he felt something brush against his mind. He walked over to the table and held out his hand. "Michael Cranford. How are you?"

The man rose fluidly. "Severus Snape. Albus said that you wanted the truth." He sneered at the last words.

Michael shrugged. "I suppose that it could be put like that. I just want to know if You-Know-Who is really back. I know a couple good places to eat in Muggle London, I don't think it's a good idea to talk here."

Snape raised his eyebrow. "Muggle-born?"

Michael flushed and said somewhat angrily, "What's it to you?", before remembering. Snape was an ex-Death Eater. Pureblood supremacy wasn't unique to that group, just extraordinarily concentrated. If he could deal with it from his colleagues, he could deal with it coming from a school teacher. He took a small calming breath.

"Look, Fudge is sacking everyone who doesn't agree with him and if you don't mind, I'd rather keep my job. Shall we go?"

Snape scowled, but rose. They exited the pub and walked through the barrier. Michael transfigured his robes into khaki pants and a shirt and was surprised to see that Snape had also changed his robes into black Muggle clothing. Michael was surprised. The majority of wizards seemed to think that appropriate Muggle clothing was an odd assortment of raincoats, kilts, and priest's robes.

"It's this way," Michael gestured to their right. Snape nodded and followed wordlessly. They walked in silence for about five minutes, before they reached a small hole-in-the-wall place. The Rusty Sword was dingy; the small sign signaling its existence was faded. Michael knew nicer places, but this little pub had good food (if one stuck to sandwiches), was cheap, and above all, provided privacy. Its patrons minded their own business religiously. Michael and Snape could have ran in, shouting at the tops of their lungs that Judgment Day was coming and received no greater reaction than a raised eyebrow and being shoved to a table. He said as much to Snape when he had asked Michael, voice dripping with contempt, whether he should expect to find maggots in his food.

They sat down at a rickety, stained table and ordered sandwiches, which were plopped down unceremoniously shortly afterwards. Snape put up silencing wards with a discreet flick of his wand.

Michael started the conversation. "Can you offer me any proof that You-Know-Who is back?"

Snape gave him a sour look and rolled up his left sleeve. The Dark Mark sat on his forearm, looking almost like an innocent tattoo. Michael suppressed a shudder as Snape yanked his sleeve down.

"When the Dark Lord disappeared, the Mark faded with him. Last year, it started growing clearer again as He regained strength. He came back the last night of the Triwizard Tournament." A shadow passed briefly over Snape's face, as if he were remembering something unpleasant.

"And what is You-Know-Who planning on doing?" Michael queried.

"As of yet, nothing much. The Ministry is conveniently turning a blind eye, so he plans to take advantage of that to rebuild a solid power base. We are currently trying to do the same, but as you can tell, the Ministry is full of blind idiots who can't see what's in front of their eyes."

Michael was indignant. "Well, we don't have any proof at all. All I knew was that Dumbledore headed some secret organization and Fudge was trying too hard to hush things up."

Snape raised his eyebrow and said sardonically, "I waved my Dark Mark in front of Fudge's face. I don't think that I could have made His return any more obvious."

"As you already know about the Order," Snape saw Michael's curious look and added, "Dumbledore told me about your _meeting_. As you already know about the Order's existence, Dumbledore wants to know if you would like to join. I don't agree with his policy of letting just anyone in, but sadly, it isn't my place to decide that and the Order needs anyone they can get. He expects your response within a week."

Snape rose and stalked out of the bar without another word, leaving Michael somewhat dumbfounded and shocked at the other man's rude behavior.

*****

Severus had felt his Mark burning, quickly told Cranford the necessary information and stalked off to the nearest alley. He re-transfigured his Muggle clothes into Death Eater robes. He contemplated Apparating to Hogwarts to get his mask, but decided that the punishment for being late again would be worse than arriving without it. Grimacing, he touched his wand to the Mark and Apparated.

The Riddle House was stuffy, dark, and smelled faintly of mold. Snape stifled a look of disgust as he knelt down on the filthy floor and crawled towards the Dark Lord, who was occupying a moth-eaten armchair. He remained kneeling, using the time to calm his mind and form a block around certain thoughts.

"Look at me, Severus," the Dark Lord commanded. A long, pale finger tilted Severus' face upwards and red eyes bored into black. Severus' mind felt the equivalent of a sledgehammer rip through it and memories flashed before his mind.

Severus was grading exam papers, taunting Minerva, having tea with Dumbledore. Giving into baser instincts and punching Sirius Black. And meeting with Michael Cranford: "_As you already know about the Order's existence, Dumbledore wants to know if you would like to join_…" memory Severus had said.

At the memory of Cranford, the Dark Lord paused. "Explain," he hissed.

Severus murmured respectfully, "My Lord, Dumbledore wished for me to meet with a potential member of the Order of the Phoenix. Cranford had no other reason for enquiring other than curiosity. He is but a simple, Muggle-born clerk in the Ministry."

The Dark Lord nodded, apparently appeased by Severus' explanation. "Keep me informed about Dumbledore's efforts at recruiting." The "or else" was implied.

"I have called you here because I am in need of your services. You will brew Polyjuice, Veritaserum, and poison, it matters not what type as long as it is undetectable. I want the potions within a month."

Severus decided that he would point out later that the Veritaserum would take longer than a month to brew. He didn't feel like getting crucio-ed right now.

The Dark Lord looked at Severus. "Why are you still here? Go."

Severus, grateful for the dismissal, left with alacrity before the Dark Lord could notice his missing mask.

*****

Lord Voldemort idly contemplated Cranford's alliance with the Order. He didn't deem it a threat – after all, Cranford was just a clerk - , but he hadn't thought an infant Potter to be one either. It was best to nip potential dangers early in the bud.

He communicated with Nagini for some time.

It was time that Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort felt a wave of anger rise up at the thought of the aristocrat, did something useful.

"Pettigrew," the useless vermin appeared at his side, "tell Lucius Malfoy that I want him to find out more about this Cranford and to keep an eye on him."

The rat scurried away.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Any and all feedback is really appreciated.


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